Of Cruelty And Kindness
by TwistedSky
Summary: Post-2x16. Santana owes Sam an apology.


Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, because if I did things would be very, very different. Spoilers for 2x16. I couldn't quite make it as good as I wanted it to be, sigh.

XXXXXX

"I'm done," Sam says after the 'Trouty Mouth' episode. "I can't take this anymore."

Santana turns to him in surprise. "You're done when I say you're done."

Sam just shakes his head. "No, you don't get it. You were honest with me with the while Quinn thing, and I thought—I thought you were human. But you aren't. I'm tired of the mouth jokes, and the way you emasculate me every chance you get. I'm done," he turns around and simply walks away.

Santana watches him walk away and wonders for the first time whether she's gone too far.

XXXX

Santana refuses to be upset.

She had her heart smashed to pieces by an oblivious Brittany, she's never been sympathetic, she's never wanted to feel anything.

She's not going to let stupid Sam make her feel bad about herself for making fun of his mouth—which isn't that trouty, except yeah, it is. But Santana doesn't have much of a filter, and she doesn't feel guilty, she assures herself.

She won't say sorry.

XXXX

"You should apologize to him," Brittany says suddenly, coming out of nowhere as far as Santana can tell.

Santana is annoyed, because her Brittany-radar is usually better than that, but she just shrugs, slamming her locker shut and walking away down the hall.

She's mildly surprised when Brittany follows her. "Quinn broke his heart, then you just danced on his grave. I mean—" Brittany sounds confused, and Santana just rolls her eyes.

"He doesn't mean anything, it doesn't matter."

"But he's a person. And a person's a person, no matter how much he dyes his hair. He was nice to you. And he deserves to matter to someone."

"But he doesn't matter to me," Santana protests, already annoyed that this conversation wouldn't just _end._

"I don't know why I've spent so much time defending you," Brittany muses. "You're as bad as everyone says you are," and with that she spun around on her heel, stalking off towards Artie.

Santana doesn't turn around to watch Brittany, she just keeps walking. She keeps walking right into a group of football players who throw slushees in her face before she even gets the chance to close her eyes.

XXXX

It burns. It really burns. Santana can't seem to get the sting of the slushee out of her eyes, and it just _hurts._

And when she starts to cry, she swears it's just the slushee, she's not crying. Her eyes are watering, because that just _happens_ sometimes.

She looks at herself in the mirror, and sees her vulnerability, she sees the bitchy look on her face, she sees herself clearly for the first time in a really long time. Possibly ever.

She doesn't know what that means.

XXXX

She can't get the stains out. She hates that, because that was her favorite shirt.

She doesn't throw it away though, just rolls it up and shoves it in a drawer, as if somehow that means she'll wear it eventually.

She starts to hum to herself. "Trouty mouth—" and realizes that she'd written a song for the sole purpose of humiliating Sam in front of Glee Club.

And she liked to hurt Sam, because she was angry at Brittany, and she loved Brittany, so she couldn't take it out on her.

Santana isn't a big fan of self-analysis though, so she shoves those thoughts out of her mind, and stares up at her ceiling.

She feels her unnaturally large breasts weighing down on her, making it harder for her to breathe, and she starts to cry.

This time she doesn't really have an excuse, but it doesn't matter.

XXXX

No one loves Santana. She's not that girl—that girl who gets to be loved, who has friends—all she ever really had was Brittany—and that's just reality.

Santana _isn't_ nice.

Santana doesn't _want _to be nice.

Santana sometimes wishes she were though—especially when she sees how happy everyone else is, and realizes how alone _she_ is.

XXXX

When Santana sees Sam doesn't have a duet partner when Shue gets it in his head to do more duets in preparation for Nationals, she picks him.

Okay, that's not true. She picks him before he has the opportunity to have another partner.

He looks at her in surprise, but shrugs his assent.

She doesn't smile smugly, she just sighs in relief later when the Glee Club meeting is over.

XXXX

"I'm sorry," she says when she goes over to his house to practice/find some song to sing. She doesn't really have any ideas, but she also realizes that she and Sam aren't exactly going to be singing the leads at _Nationals_.

Sam is never the first choice any more than she is.

Santana wishes she could stop doing so much _feeling _and _thinking_, but she can't.

"Okay," he says. That's all he says.

Santana isn't happy. "I'm sorry for making fun of your trouty mouth, for emasculating you, for using you, and I'm just—I'm sorry. And I want to be friends."

Sam looks surprised at that. "Friends? Do you even have friends?"

Santana glares at him. "No. Do you?"

He nods, and laughs slightly to himself. "You have a valid point."

"I do," she says firmly. "Friends." It isn't even really a question now, it's a demand.

Sam smiles, and she realizes that he really does have a lovely smile, and she can't help but smile back.

XXXX

"Kurt transferred back," Santana plops down next to Sam in the cafeteria.

He turns to her, "I heard."

"He brought Blaine with him. How weird is that? I keep thinking that there should be some sort of rule against it, but it's like no one lives in the real world or something."

She stares at his lunch, and fights off the urge to grab at one of his fries.

He sees her desire and smiles. He'll say yes if she asks.

She doesn't ask. "So, I found a song."

"Really?" he's surprised. "What?"

She just smiles. "You'll find out soon enough, tr—Sam."

He appreciates her restraint.

XXXX

"I like it," he says when she tells him which song she's chosen.

Santana smiles happily, grabbing his hand and squeezing it before running off. "Perfect."

Sam wonders why she seems so happy, but he's rather enjoying not being completely alone, so he doesn't wonder _too_ hard.

XXXX

Santana likes to argue, she likes to hurt people, she likes to make them angry. Those emotions are easy.

Fear, love, happiness—those are harder.

She doesn't know why she wants to be friends with Sam, except that she no longer has Brittany, and so that's kind of important to her. She needs _someone_, just a single person, always has.

And he's cute, so there's that.

XXXX

"You're mean," he says.

"You're almost as stupid as Finn."

"You like to hurt people."

"You're too nice."

"You're a bitch."

"You're a dork."

"I'm glad we're friends," he says suddenly.

"Me too," she says.

Inside she's jumping for joy, but she doesn't let it show.

XXXX

"I'm sorry," she says one day to Brittany. "I'm sorry."

That's all she says, and then she leaves, because that's all she has to say.

XXXX

"You don't know me," by Ben Folds and Regina Spektor is the song.

Because no one does. They don't know each other, they don't know themselves, and none of these people get them either.

But at least they're kinda trying to figure it all out now.

XXXX

She's mean because it's easier, Sam realizes.

She has issues. A lot of them.

She starts to share.

He starts to _get_ it.

XXXX

"I care," Sam says a few days before Nationals.

She turns to him in surprise. "I care too."

They stare at each other for one long moment, and then the moment ends.

But they both have silly smiles on their faces—smiles no one but them even notices.

XXXX

They aren't the stars—but that's okay.

They don't get solos—but that's okay too.

They lose Nationals—but that's to be expected.

Sam and Santana go out for ice cream afterwards.

They discover that New York is amazing.

They realize that there's more to the world than Ohio, and that there's more to _life._

They both realize for the very first time that they really do want _more_._  
_

They share a kiss in the middle of a busy street—and someone annoyingly bumps into them, shoving them closer together.

Sam distracts Santana from cursing out everyone in their vicinity by pressing his lips to hers again.

It's nice.

And it's an excellent distraction.


End file.
